"Yes!" Michael’s answer was firm, not a single flicker of hesitation in it.

My chest tightened, like my heart had just taken a hard punch to the gut, a dull, throbbing ache that wouldn’t quit spreading through my ribs. He tossed a casual "sorry" over his shoulder and hurried off like I wasn’t even standing there.

I stayed rooted to the spot, watching him leave, and it felt like a dull blade had just carved my heart open. The pain squeezed so tight I could barely draw breath. Ice crawled up from my toes, numbing every inch of my body, turning me cold all over.

When Michael took over the Hansen family business, it was one bad quarter away from collapsing, finances completely in ruins. He’d sat right across from me and said the company was still unstable, that he couldn’t promise me the steady future I deserved. But he swore once things settled down, he’d marry me.

For three whole years, I clung to that promise. I schemed, I fought, I clawed my way up the corporate ladder just to pull him from nobody to somebody. All I ever wanted was for my family to accept him, for us to finally walk down that aisle. But after three years together… this whole thing was nothing but a business deal to him.

Turns out, in this so-called love of ours, I was the only fool who fell head over heels. All my blood, sweat and tears for three years? Just a bad joke, nothing next to his real one, Aila.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, fighting like hell to hold my tears back, but they spilled anyway—rolling down my cheeks like loose beads off a broken necklace, I couldn’t stop them if I tried. The ache inside me raged so hard my whole body shook uncontrollably.

Remy was standing off to the side, watching me fall apart with that smug little smirk of his. "Leona, if you hadn’t been so damn clingy all these years, my brother never would’ve agreed to marry some tacky, low-class thing like you in the first place. Why don’t you get a clue and get out of the Hansen family for good?"

Hearing Remy say that out loud, bold as brass, made the cold in my bones even worse. "Have you already forgotten? If it wasn’t for me, the Hansen family wouldn’t even be here today, sitting pretty like this."

"Cut the crap!" Remy jabbed a finger right in my face, voice sharp with anger. "You really think you’re some big shot? We’d be doing just fine without you!"

The way they saw me… it made my heart ache so bad I thought it would split in two.

"That’s enough for today," Rosalie, Michael’s mother, snapped as she strode over, impatience rolling off her. Her eyes were full of nothing but disgust, like I was something dirty she’d stepped in off the street. "Look at you! Making a scene like this is bad enough, but the Hansen family can’t afford to lose face over you!"

With that, she slapped that fake, practiced smile right back on her face and turned to greet the guests.

I watched as the guests trickled out in small groups, my wedding—the one I’d dreamed of for years—turning into nothing but one big, humiliating joke. Why did the love and sincerity I gave get thrown back in my face like trash? Was it all just because I fell for a man who never loved me back?

I slowly closed my eyes, tears rolling down my cold cheeks. I felt fragile, helpless, just like a pile of shattered glass no one can bother putting back together.

Thirty minutes later, I found myself wandering aimlessly down a deserted street, like a lost ghost searching for something to ease the ache. I didn’t even notice the rain starting at first: big, heavy drops that quickly turned into a full-on downpour.

I glanced around. There wasn’t any shelter for miles, nothing but a bus stop far off down the road. I was barefoot, so I hurried toward it, but of course my luck held—a sharp, jagged stone sliced right into the arch of my foot. I flinched, biting down hard on the pain, and limped the rest of the way to the stop.

Suddenly, a blaring horn cut straight through the quiet of the rain-soaked street.

I stared at the car roaring straight toward me, my eyes blowing wide, pupils blown black with pure fear.

Leona Carpenter’s mind went completely blank. Her legs felt heavy as lead, too heavy to move. A car tore past her like a streak of black lightning, so close it was almost terrifying. The gust of wind it kicked up sent her crashing to the wet pavement.

She figured the driver would just speed off—there wasn’t a soul around to see what happened. But instead, the car swung around and screeched to a stop right in front of her.

The door swung open, and a pair of perfectly polished black leather boots stepped out onto the road. Long, straight legs strode toward her with purpose, and a black umbrella tilted over her head to block the unrelenting pouring rain.

"You okay?" Vance Martinez’s deep, rich voice cut through the drumming of the rain.

Leona lifted her gaze to the man standing over her. He had sharp, striking features, a chiseled jawline, and eyes so deep and magnetic they pulled her right in, holding a mysterious glint she couldn’t look away from.

Wait… those eyes. Did she know them? She couldn’t quite place it.

Leona shook her head, her voice soft and rough from the shock. "I’m fine, thank you…"

She pushed herself up with effort, but the scrape on her calf and the cut on her foot made her flinch hard, and she stumbled right back down.

Suddenly, a strong, muscular arm curled around her waist, hauling her steady against a solid, warm frame.

Before she knew it, she was pressed right up against Vance’s chest, wrapped in his crisp, masculine scent. Her hands landed instinctively on his chest, and she could feel the hard, firm muscle under his dress shirt— and her heart immediately started hammering against her ribs.

Her palms burned with embarrassment, and she tried to scramble back. Instead of letting go, he just lifted her effortlessly into his arms.

She frowned, her gaze turning icy. "What do you think you’re doing? Put me down!"

She’d dated Michael Hansen for three years, and they’d barely even held hands more than a handful of times. A stranger this forward? It made her skin prickle with discomfort.

Vance held her gaze, his expression calm and unshakable. "You’re hurt. You need to get to a hospital right now."

"I-I can walk on my own." Being this close to him made her jittery; his cool, commanding aura wrapped around her, and it only amplified her nerves.

"Don’t move," he ordered, his voice firm and authoritative, and all the protests died right in Leona’s throat.

Once she was settled in the car, a cold chill went through her and she sneezed. Vance reached over to turn down the AC, then noticed she was still shivering, and draped his wool coat over her shoulders. "Don’t catch a cold."

"Thank you." The coat held his scent and warmth, and it stirred something weird and unnameable in her chest.

Vance caught the pink rising in her cheeks, and a flicker of amusement glinted in his dark eyes. "I should be the one thanking you."

"What do you mean?" Leona blinked, confused.

He held her gaze steady, his voice low and sure. "Thank you for letting me apologize. For giving me a chance to make this right."

The car ate up the road quickly, and before long they pulled up to a hospital nearby. Leona insisted on walking on her own two feet, so Vance matched her slow pace as she limped toward the emergency entrance.

When she came back out, she found him with his back to her, talking on his phone. The second he spotted her, he hung up and walked straight over. "Here’s my number. Hit me up if you need anything at all."

"I don’t need anything else," Leona said politely, declining the business card he held out. The accident was over, and she liked to keep things simple—no unnecessary messy ties with strangers.

She paused, then held out his coat to him. "Here’s your coat. I’ll pay for the dry cleaning, of course."

Vance glanced at the coat in her hands, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You need it way more than I do right now."

His simple line warmed her chest all of a sudden, unexpected. She wondered if she was just extra raw and vulnerable today, to get this worked up over a stranger’s small kindness.

"Thank you, but I’m fine. I really need to go." She turned down his offer of further help—she had urgent matters waiting for her back at the Hansen house.

Vance watched her slender figure retreat down the sidewalk, a determined glint burning in his eyes. "We’ll meet again soon."

Leona Carpenter stepped across the threshold of what was supposed to be her and Michael Hansen’s marital home, her chest feeling heavy as she scanned the hollow, empty rooms. She already knew she’d be the only one walking through that door tonight.

Her gaze snagged on the bold fall wreath nailed to the entry door. Without a single flicker of hesitation or regret, Leona stepped forward and wrenched it down.

Every surface in the house was strung with vibrant autumn decor, and every piece just rubbed her raw anger in deeper. She cleared it all away methodically, one by one, until her eyes finally landed on the framed wedding photo of her and Michael.

Leona stared at it in silence. The raw ache in her gaze faded, leaving nothing but cold indifference in its place. She grabbed a pair of scissors and drove the blade straight through the middle of their grinning faces.

Once every trace of their marriage was erased, Leona sank alone onto the couch and sat there from dusk till dawn. Just as exhaustion was starting to blur her vision and make her head spin, she finally heard a key turn in the lock.

Once upon a time, her heart would’ve leaped right out of her chest to greet him. This time? She stayed right where she was, calm as anything, on the couch.

Michael walked in without a shred of guilt on his face. He dropped tiredly onto the opposite end of the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Go get me a cup of coffee."

Leona let out a dry, bitter laugh. "Michael. We’re done."

Her words came out hard, unshakable—there was no mistaking the finality in them.

Michael’s dark eyes locked with hers, unreadable as ever, like he was turning something over in his head.

Leona’s lips tugged into a sardonic smirk. "Why the confused look? You already made your choice, didn’t you? When you left me stranded at the altar, and even when Aila crawled back into your life?"

Michael grabbed a pack of cigarettes off the coffee table, fished one out with that familiar, practiced motion, lit it, and took a long, deep drag. After a minute of dead silence, he spoke in a cool, even tone. "Breaking up is better for both of us. You’ve always misunderstood Aila, way too deep for that to ever change. Staying together would only hurt her more."

Leona stared at him, and this time she laughed out loud, no holding back. "I honestly have to wonder—Is there anything you wouldn’t do for Aila Ellis?"

Michael stubbed his cigarette out hard in the ashtray, a flash of impatience glinting in his eyes. "For three years, I tried to move on from her. But you can’t help who you fall for. I hope you can forgive me. Just don’t take this out on Aila—she didn’t do anything wrong."

That’s when Leona completely lost it, cackling like she’d just heard the funniest joke in the world.

Three years of waking up next to him, three years of day in and day out trying to make this work. She’d poured every piece of herself into fixing what was broken, stupidly believing love could change a man, that her heat could eventually thaw the ice around his heart.

For him, she’d given up so much—even turned her back on her own family. And after all that? All she got was this: you can’t control your feelings.

Michael watched her like she’d lost her mind, a brief flicker of something that looked almost like pain crossing his face. "This card has a hundred grand on it. Enough for you to live comfortable back home in the countryside."

So that was it. Three years of giving him everything she had, and he priced it at a hundred thousand dollars.

But what did he know? To Leona Carpenter, a lousy hundred grand meant nothing.

"Michael, I was with you for you—nothing else. I don’t give a single crap about the Hansen fortune, or that stupid, coveted title of Mrs. Hansen!" Leona’s face was set like stone, her gaze holding nothing but cold indifference and unshakable resolve.

"I don’t want your apology, and I don’t want your money! Get that through your head: We will never, ever get back together." With that, she stood, held her head high, and walked straight for the door with purpose.

Michael watched her walk out, that determined stride of hers, and for a split second his chest tightened so sharply it knocked the breath right out of him. Before he even knew what he was doing, his hand lifted half an inch, reaching for her.